by Mj Fields
Natasha
My head spins from the past few days as I sit in my dorm room. A normal girl in my situation would be overjoyed by the fact that every dream she’s ever had is coming true.
I laugh at myself when I recall something Mom said earlier today, ‘Normal was never God’s plan for you.’ I was even born different. But I suppose, the way life is turning out, I wouldn’t want normal, even if my imagined Prince Charming knelt before me with an opened Tiffany box displaying the perfect platinum ring surrounding ten carrots, and a promise of a happy ever after. Not if it meant missing all the things life or God has brought to me.
But a little less chaos would be welcome. With all the changes around me, Mom’s pregnancy and new love, Maisie’s cancer, Stella’s dad’s illness, college, the new line, and of course, Oliver, I needed to try to distance myself from the majority of it and try to focus on all the things that brought me joy, preferably, one blessing at a time.
This morning, after the issue with Oliver, I spoke to Mom. Not about Oliver, but about Stella. I told her I needed to see her, and that I needed to tell her before news got out that my designs were going to be used for de le Porte’s winter line.
She agreed. Although I would miss seeing her, Bass, and Maisie, who has come to be so very cherished to me in such a short time, this coming weekend, I would be glad to avoid Oliver.
I know he doesn’t want to hurt me, I know he wants what’s best for this potluck family, and I say that with all the love I’ve always had for potluck dinners and now, French cuisine style lunch buffets. However, there isn’t much more I can do to make him see he can trust me. And to be true to myself, I need to step back and let him figure that out for himself, just like I had already figured out I trust him.
For a few hours now, I’ve thought about all he shared while he thought I was sleeping. I still can’t believe all he endured, or that I had enough restraint to lie there and pretend I was sleeping while he told me all he did. And I can’t stop wondering about Grace. I have a million questions, maybe even more. Where is she? Is she okay? Does he love her? And because I’m curious by nature, me staying away from Paris this weekend will also give him a reprieve from… me. It hurt when he refused my offer for lunch today, but when I got past my feelings, I knew he too needed a break from me. Understandable.
To escape the thoughts, I turn on my laptop and go to YouTube to search for anything new I’d missed from James.
After watching an hour’s worth of his older videos, affording me the chance to sink into a somewhat normal mindset, I sat on my bed and began flipping through my phone to look at the pictures I’d taken of the gowns.
Some of the very fabric cut with my own hand, fabric I could have only dreamed of playing with before. I pinned the pieces together, then fed pieces through machines, stitching them together. Then hanging them on the mannequins. I watched my dreams come together, piece by piece, stitch by stich. It was truly amazing.
A knock on the door and then it automatically opening tells me without looking it’s Shana before she even says, “I thought I heard you in here, get ready, we’re going out!”
“It’s Sunday,” I laugh.
“I’m sure you were taken to church all weekend with your hottie in Paris. Which reminds me, God, I hate my life, I’m so jealous, which is your fault, so come on, let’s go!”
Before I can tell her, I don’t want to, she’s out the door, and I’m dragging my butt out of bed to get ready to go out, on a Sunday night, so I can tell Shana the truth. She doesn’t have to be jealous, because he and I aren’t together.
Sitting in front of the mirror, applying makeup, I construct the most elaborate details of my break up with GQ Joe and feel completely ridiculous doing so.
“I’m not sure how you find these places,” I laugh as Shana pulls me into the bar.
“Something about the name just calls to me,” she giggles as we walk up to the oak bar at The Spread Eagle.
“Two pints,” she tells the bartender.
Before I can object, she all but yells, “You don’t have class until noon tomorrow, so no excuse, plus they’re out of sparkling water.”
“Har, har,” I laugh.
Having never had an alcoholic beverage before makes me nervous, but I don’t want to tell her that, although I assume she knows already, since we’ve been out a dozen times and I’ve never drank.
We sit at a pub table just a few feet from the bar and I look down at my first pint. When I lift it up and take a sip, I want to spit it out, but I don’t.
“So, tell me all about that hot as fuck boyfriend of yours,” Shana grins.
I nearly choke on the second sip of the room temperature liquid yuk.
I might as well get it over with.
“We broke up,” I shrug.
Her jaw drops but instead of saying a thing, she walks over to the bar and I watch as the bartender pours two shots.
Damn!
And then two more drinks are poured.
Double damn!
She walks over carrying the drinks on a small tray.
She sets it on the table, reaches over and pulls the pint away from me and sets it next to hers before placing the two new glasses in front of me.
“You need a drink,” she sighs as she sits down opposite me.
“Um, I had one, and now I have two.”
She pushes over the shot. “Now you have three.”
I shake my head., “Girl, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Tequila is the cure for a broken heart.”
“Who said my heart’s broken?” I laugh.
“Damn girl, I didn’t consider you to be a love ‘em and leave ‘em type.”
“I’m not,” I shrug. “It’s just.”
I pause and consider my next words. My next lie.
“It happens,” she nods. “Let’s do a shot.”
Yeah, let’s.
Mindlessly, I pick up the shot glass and toss it back, like I’ve seen in movies.
Gasoline, pure gasoline, runs down my throat, hits my stomach and threatens to come right back up.
I cover my mouth, fearing it’ll fly right out as fast as it went down.
She laughs and points to one of the two drinks she had set in front of me with the gasoline.
My facial expression must tell her I don’t trust a damn thing she puts in front of me because she smiles and tells me, “I think you’ll like it.”
I scowl.
“It’s nothing like tequila. It’s Apples and Pears, sparkling cider, with alcohol.”
I take a cautious sip and it helps remove the gasoline taste. I take a bigger one and it helps even more, but still it’s there. I drink down the entire glass.
Setting the empty on the table in front of me, I inhale a breath that doesn’t burn anymore as I feel heat spread in my chest, my neck, and across my face, along with a smile.
“It’s good?” she asks.
“It is,” I grin.
An hour later and I’m drunk.
“I always imagined I’d get buzzed before getting drunk,” I laugh as Shana pushes a third glass of sparkling Apples and Pears toward me.
Then she leans in and whispers, “Don’t look now, but I think ex and ink is here?”
I ask, “Who?”
“Your ssss-exy ex, he’s here.”
“He is not.”
I stop when a glass of water hits the table in front of me, and when I look over my shoulder Oliver is standing behind me, but he’s not looking at me, he’s looking at Shana. “You forgot something.”
She shrugs. “No, no, I didn’t. I spilled something.”
I look back as Oliver walks around the table and stands beside me. I notice his shirt is soaked.
“Shana,” I scold her.
She doesn’t look at me, she glares at him. “He deserved it.”
“Is there a problem?” I look back and see a tall woman standing beside him now. She’s tall, built like a goddess, and has skin as dar
k as night. She’s freaking gorgeous.
“Yeah, skank,” Shana begins.
“Who the fuck is this little shit?” The woman steps toward Shana, and Oliver puts his arm between them.
“I hope when you’re going down on him later, you taste her le chat. And just so you know, that’s French for pussy.”
I glance at the woman, ready to expose my lie when I see her face break into an amused grin as her eyebrow quirks and she steps toward Shana.
Oliver reaches out and takes her wrist. “Celine, I’ll deal with this.”
Still looking Shana up and down, she nods. “Yeah, you do that.” She turns to me and shakes her head. “Nice to meet you, Natasha.”
Confused, I look at Oliver, his face is stone and his eyes narrowed. I look back at her as she walks away and yell to her back, “Um, you too.”
I look at the floor, not wanting to meet Oliver’s angry black eyes, when I hear Harry, “Hey, you started without us.”
I swear I hear Oliver growl and I look up to see him glaring at Harry and his friend, Charles.
Shana makes the introduction. “Hey fellas, this is the guy who was keeping Natasha away from the full college experience, taking her away the past few weekends and then–”
“Natasha.” Oliver pulls out my seat without warning. “A moment.”
As soon as my feet hit the floor, I realize just how much the Apple and Pears had affected me.
“I gotta pee.” I pull my arm away and look around for the bathroom. Once I see it, I take a step and nearly fall on my face.
Except I don’t, because a very big and inked arm wraps around my waist, lifts me up, and walks through the crowded bar toward the bathroom.
When he pushes the door open, I wiggle out of his arms and he sets me on my feet. I stumble toward the stall door and pull it back to open it and nearly fall again, but I don’t.
Squatting above the toilet, one hand on each of the walls beside me, I moan out loud when I finally release the contents of my bladder.
Once I’m done, I wipe, stand and steady myself as I push the door open and walk out.
When I see Oliver glaring at me, I raise my nose in the air, place my hand on the one thing I know for sure is unmovable, the wall, and slowly make my way to the sink to wash my hands.
“This… this… this.” I suck my lips in to stop from stuttering and I immediately feel the embarrassment of it. When I look up in the mirror, I see him behind me shaking his head, giving me a look of disappointment.
My throat tightens around a lump and my eyes fill with tears.
“Ladies’. Room.”
“You can’t be left alone, Natasha, you’re fucked up.”
Knowing there is no sense in trying to string together a sentence, I tell him one word, “Friends.”
“Friends, Natasha? Your friend poured water over me, telling me to take a cold fucking shower.”
I bite my top lip to stop myself from laughing.
“Shit’s not funny. If Celine wasn’t who she is, she’d have kicked her ass,” he snaps.
“Sorry.” I take in a deep breath and turn around, using the sink to steady myself. “She thinks,” I motion between us.
He runs his hand through his hair, and I notice he’s trimmed his beard.
Then I remember he’s supposed to be on his way back to the US.
“Why are you still here?”
“Because I’m gonna make sure your ass gets back to your dorm without further incident.”
I brush past him, taking each step carefully. “Go find your Celine.”
He holds the door shut as I try to open it. “She’s a friend.”
He’d already said he didn’t have friends and now he’s saying the opposite. “I was under the impression you didn’t have those.”
He frowns.
“Well then, go find her, and Oliver?” I look back at him. “Try not to give her whiplash.”
When he’s caught off guard, I am able to open the door and slide out.
The pub is packed, and now loud music fills the establishment… or maybe it did before and I just didn’t notice. I see Shana, Harry, and Charlie dancing to some whimsical folk sounding song and even though I’ve never danced, I’m one hundred percent sure I cannot possibly look any more foolish than they do.
“Natasha.” I look behind me and see Oliver calling my name at the same time Shana calls to me.
I hold my hands palm up and shrug at him, then join my friends.
Dancing in circles, arms linked, spinning, laughing and I’m having fun, just like a normal college girl should. Harry hands me another drink and I take it pretending to curtsey. “Thank you, kind sir.”
“Of course, me lady,” he bows and we both laugh.
I look up to see if Oliver has rejoined his friend, Celine. I hope he has. I hope he can enjoy himself the way I plan to enjoy myself tonight. We both deserve it.
I see him leaning against the bar next to the beautiful woman, but his arms are crossed over his chest and he’s staring at me, his lips in a straight line.
I frown wishing he could just… lighten up.
I give him two thumbs up and a smile, he rolls his eyes and Shana grabs my hand, turning me to face her.
“Ignore the ex.” Then she laughs. “No matter how sexy he is.”
He’s not my ex, I think as I force myself back in the moment
When the song changes to a slow one I immediately look for the quickest path to the table, when Harry grabs my wrist. “Not so fast, tiny dancer.”
“If you like your feet unharmed, you may want to rethink your–”
“She’s taken.”
Oliver.
Shana points her finger at him as she hands me a shot. “You’ve moved on.”
“You need to mind your business,” Oliver snaps at her.
I take the gasoline in the tiny cup and toss it back before I turn and scold him, “Really?”
Then I lift my glass that Harry gave me and drink the entire contents as Oliver tosses his own drink back, sets it on the table beside us, then takes my empty and does the same.
His hands then grip my hips, stopping me from moving as he looks over my head at my friends and scowls.
When the song begins, I look up at him, his eyes still looking over my head, he begins to move. I wrap my hands around his wrists and he looks down and quips, “They go on my shoulders and it helps if you move a little.”
I don’t move.
“Look, you may want to play along with your little game, or they’re going to suspect that we’re-.”
I interrupt, “They suspected when they saw you with Celine.”
His lips turn up slightly in the corner.
“If you like her, Oliver–”
“I like her fine, but that’s not the point here is it?”
“The point is, I already told them we broke up, which I wouldn’t have had to do had Autumn not felt the need to hide my… my… my virtue.” Amusement dances in his eyes and to that I roll mine and continue, “So this is senseless-eses.”
“Is it senseless-eses?”
I push on his chest and roll my eyes, his lip twitches up in the corner just for a moment and the moment passes all too quickly as his hand covers mine and drags it up from his chest to place it on his shoulder.
His eyes no longer look at me, they look over me again as he moves us in a way that others will assume lovers do.
“It’s not necessary.”
“Your virtue won’t be preserved if you continue frequenting places like The Cock and The Spread Eagle.”
I laugh out loud and he sighs. “Natasha, it may seem amusing now, going out, drinking, dancing and being foolish, however, you are bringing all you imagined to life and doing it with a company built on the basis of class and elegance.” He grips my hips a little tighter. “I’m sure you don’t want the new face of de la Porte to taint the company’s image.”
The words tainted, and face, make me sick to my stomach immediately and
I step back.
He pulls me back against him, my palms lay flat on his chest.
“You know what I mean.”
“I know exactly.” I bite my upper lip.
25
Oliver
I sure as fuck didn’t mean to make her feel self-conscious, but I did. And when she covered her stomach and her pretty pale skin turned the color of her eyes, I knew what was coming next.
When she threw up all over me, she began to cry, and when I picked her up and carried her out of the bar, she didn’t stop, not even when we’d crossed the road.
She didn’t stop crying and whispering apologies, and it shook me to my soul.
She’s not Grace.
I set her on the ground, peel off my goddamned sweater and throw it in the trash outside my hotel.
Luckily, I have a tee shirt underneath it so when we walk into the five-star lobby, not many people look at us that oddly. She wouldn’t be able to handle that, not right now.
I kept her under my arm and turned in so the vomit on her didn’t show, and yes, I did catch a few looks as I boarded the elevator car with a crying girl. Not sure if it was the tears or the smell.
Once inside my room, she immediately pulls away from me and runs to the bathroom, drinks from the faucet, and starts throwing up again. Luckily, this time, it wasn’t on me, it was in the sink.
As I hold her hair away from her face while she throws up, I tell her, “You may be thirsty, but it’ll just put more in your stomach, so don’t drink.”
I draw her a bath when she sits on the marble floor silently sobbing.
I don’t say a word when she rejects ten calls in a row from her cell, but the next time, I take it from her and tell her little tequila pushing friend, that she’s fine and would be with me this evening.
And I don’t wait for her to reply, I hang up.
“I can’t do this, Oliver,” she cries.
I pull her up. “You threw up because you’re drunk, Natasha, not because you’re incapable. You think you’re incapable because you’re drunk. You catching the commonality? Drunk Natasha isn’t happy Natasha.”
I pull her dress up over her head and she melts into the wall behind her like a limp and lifeless noodle. I focus on her face, not the fact that she’s wearing a virgin white bra with matching panties, or the fact that this is the girl coloring my nightmares and dancing all over the mayhem in them.
